The feelings takes its first casuality :D
Enjoy!
Nu.
Stiles took several breaths of manly courage sparing a glance at their little pet rogue werewolf loitering at the edge of the woods at a reasonably safe distance and watching its confused pacing- that looked as if it were awaiting the command of its devil master- with unsettling interest. He wagged the jar in its direction as if to prove how impossible Stiles munching was at the present time what with a jar of mountain fairy dust at his disposal, a trunk full of some- majorly werewolf destruction inducing- wolfsbane and a particularly pissed off alpha that appeared to be surprisingly protective of Stiles ass.
Probably because he was screwing it.
And it was feeling a little- fixatedly werewolf screwed-tender at the moment now that his -I'm a badass who will stop evil with the powers of my mind alone and ignore my severely screwed ass- adrenaline had worn off. He turned his back on the rogue ignoring the piteous whining that followed afterwards and wondering how sick it would be on a psychotic scale of mental sickness to whip out some doggy treats and feed it to the evil manbeast.
Or maybe some Scooby snacks. They might be enough to convert him from raping and pillaging, pirate werewolf to cuddly and albeit goofy, puppy dog though Stiles didn't feel the need to get his hopes up too much. The power of Scooby snacks could only go so far. He heard Derek's growling reply to evil manbeast and figured he should start moving his ass pronto before they started another impromptu werewolf battle of interpretive dance moves because they couldn't cross the barrier and actually take the final step towards murdering each other.
And he was perfectly okay with the very lack of murder coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. In fact Beacon Hills had had enough murderous, murdering to ever murder in the sake of murder amen, and thus had filled their quota of murdering for all eternity. So he was really only performing a public service here preventing werewolf fight club taking place in Derek's front yard.
It was hard not to feel a little buzzed after so much death defying acts and Stiles briefly wondered if this could be an after effect of the heat. Or maybe he'd forgotten to take his medication again. Or maybe it was from the realisation that he was reaching higher levels of awesomeness in regards to whipping supernatural butt. Whatever it was he was twitching with exhilaration.
He just hoped he could transform said powers into the effort of properly training his alpha boyfriend and harnessing said boyfriend powers to defeat his enemies. Stiles hurried forward, hand enclosed tightly around his jar of ash, the other unconsciously tracing the deep gouges left in the doorway by Derek's claws as he moved inside. His heart thudded dutifully within his chest but he was relatively calm considering Derek was already well into his smashing furniture and growling ominously- serious lack of anger management- stage. It was a furniture crime scene.
Stiles wondered if he needed to flick him on the nose yelling bad dog or put him outside to think over what he'd done because that had been a perfectly good coffee table before the alpha had torn it apart. He bent down to pick up a stray table leg ignoring the rest of the wooden carnage as he did so.
"You know you're just gonna have to buy a new one," he pointed out trying not to wince when Derek started his angry, alpha man pacing again abandoning the wreckage of table butchery.
"I have to kill him," he barked looking like he was about to jump out of his skin. Stiles ignored his evident bodily malfunction and started heading towards the stairs pretty certain he would rather not continue to be covered in the sticky remains of their sexy time when most of it was still running down his legs. Because despite being thoroughly fucked by a werewolf- and he didn't even want to consider how that level of bestiality could affect him psychologically- he still had some standards. Standards of hygiene for one.
"You don't have to kill it," he pointed out. "You just want to because you have a tendency to slash throats and whatnot."
Derek stopped pacing right in front of him, too close for comfort and Stiles wondered if he was about to die, or be seriously ravished. It was a sad thought that both had definite possibilities of occurring. Derek certainly had some personality issues.
"Break the circle," he commanded but to Stiles it sounded more like a deranged plea to kill and rip something apart and that sort of bloodlust generally went hand in hand with the full moon. And it was safe to say he was not going to let that happen, no freaking thank you.
"Are you even in control right now?" he asked and Derek growled pushing him up against the wall without warning using enough force to drive the air from his lungs.
"Whoa," he gasped out feeling interest of a sexy nature begin to stir within him at Derek's actions. Jeez, would his mind ever leave the gutter? "Down boy!"
Derek's eyes were of a normal colour, his hands completely clawless but Stiles had never seen him look so wild. Only he was pretty damn sure it had nothing to do with running around in the woods and howling at the moon and eating rabbits and such. It was a completely different type of wildness and Stiles suspected it had something to do with the feelings.
Or at least some degree of his caged human emotions. And for Derek to be opening said can of feelings after keeping them repressed for years and years of werewolf stoicism and internal angst it was to be expected that he might feel the need to kill something. That something being his lovely, human chew toy who had sacrificed many o' things to protect his sex God boyfriend. Jesus, would the alpha ever understand the concept of gratitude?
And Derek just couldn't seem to acknowledge that Stiles was helping him out by preventing mass werewolf murder which made him the biggest jerk off to exist since the birth of Jackson Whittemore and that was just not freaking acceptable.
"I have more control than you think," the alpha snarled pushing Stiles' chest further into the wall as if he intended to push him through it and Stiles was not and would never be comfortable with the idea of being thrown through a wall. He was ready to argue that point and prove how very not in control Derek was because did the alpha not smell or see the amount of semen, hickeys and bruises he was covered in right now? Or the serious tsunami cleansing he would require to remove said evidence of their sexing?
There was no way that the alpha had control when it came to the bedroom and jumping Stiles' ass. He was in some serious werewolf denial here. And obviously it was his duty to point out these little sordid details as the alpha's human chew toy but he was wasting his breath because the wall of muscle pressing him against an actual wall problem, no longer existed.
Therefore he was able to slide down the wall he'd narrowly escaped being thrown through whilst pondering life choices and the fact that he should have broken his jar of ash on the alpha's stupid, fat head.
Because Derek was already gone. And if that didn't spell marital issues than he didn't know what did.
Stiles didn't see Derek all night. But he could contribute that to many different reasons. Said reasons being a) Derek was still in recovery from the effects of Stiles sexing and needed time to get the feelings back into control again. Or b) Derek's wolf was now heavily satisfied with all of their- screwing like rabbits- sexual encounters and instead wanted to go off and kill its enemies, maybe a little more Stiles screwing later.
Or c) Derek was super freaking pissed that Stiles had prevented him from getting what he wanted which was clearly to wet his claws with the blood of a psychotic, raping, rogue werewolf that had damaged his name in Beacon Hills. And not to mention his irritating, sexually available chew toy husband had insulted his werewolf control. And that was clearly a taboo subject.
Stiles had evidently crossed an invisible line and was now in the dog house so to speak, forced to endure sex withdrawal without a sex God alpha to ease the pressure. After showering and getting into Derek's bed, waiting alluringly for an alpha boyfriend who wasn't stubborn and a cactus and constantly pushing him away because the feelings freaked him the hell out.
But if he'd really expected the alpha to turn up for more hugging of an emotional nature he would have stayed awake the entire night waiting for him. And he hadn't because he was still recovering from heat week and the many physically demanding aspects that came with it. He'd been too exhausted to worry about being murdered by Derek in the middle of the night and fell asleep in a very depressing depiction of solitary bed confinement, the distant sounds of werewolf howls creeping into his dreams.
Derek was still AWOL the next day and after going outside to check on his force field of awesome it became pretty clear that not only the alpha had disappeared. The rogue was gone too. He was torn between rejoicing and feeling sickened that it was probably already murdering again. He regretted the golden opportunity he'd had last night because he'd intended to contact- not as psycho- Chris Argent to send out his little army of merry men to chop its freaking head off but he'd been too distracted by his own goddamn alpha problems.
Alpha problems that were seeping into his rest and relaxation- because you didn't die during heat weak and have become a man that partakes in sex of the masculine variety- Sunday. He'd hidden his magic jar again in a new hiding place, keeping an eye out for Jeeves and his sex demon master in case they felt the need to destroy his last line of defence against werewolfness.
Only now he was sprawled comfortably across the grass, leaning back against the wheel of his parked jeep as he looked out into the woods for anything else to add to the list of things that wanted to kill him. The sunshine was distracting and luring him into believing that things were all nice and dandy out in this neck of the woods with a rogue werewolf and demonised jeep and an emotionally stunted alpha gone MIA and some seriously questionable furry woodland creatures all crammed together in Beacon Hills Reserve.
It appeared to be a supernatural hotspot of death and monsters and other terror inducing nightmares. Not much of a tourist destination. And only people with a death wish went hiking in the woods without a shotgun these days. But even though he had a shitload of problems- creepy woods not even brushing the surface- he somehow managed to close his eyes and get some major vitamin D because his complexion demanded it, thank you and he was a man who took his tanning seriously.
And then he proceeded to laugh at the thought of him taking that shit seriously and felt his mood improve a little. Then he figured he may as well give Scott a call and see if he survived his own heat because what else were friends for? Scott's phone rang once before he answered.
"Stiles!" Scott's voice came through the phone. "You alive?"
He rolled his eyes. "No Scott you are talking to the spirit of Stiles Stilinski that has the power to operate technology through its many ghostly ways."
Scott made an odd sound in the back of his throat and Stiles figured that was as close to a laugh as he was going to get. "So how was heat?" he asked eager to exchange his own problems for simpler- my girlfriends parents want to kill me- issues. "Did you end up seeing Allison?"
"I wish," Scott said sounding a thousand times more disappointed than Stiles would have been describing his own heat because it had not relied solely on his own Stilinski stimulation like Scott's had. He had to admit he felt bad for his best friend experiencing his own maddening heat alone. But jeez, that did not mean he was offering an invitation. Ugh. Next heat he'd have to help a brother out and send Allison and Scott out of the country where they could do the nasty without fear of her dad pumping his best friend full of wolfsbane.
"We tried to meet up before the peak but her grandpa needed her help with something and she couldn't get away."
Stiles froze because at the mention of demon grandpa the sunshine basically shrivelled up and died. "What did he need help with? Other than proving how much ninety year old men can terrify adolescents by showing up in the woods outside their house?"
"Wait what?" Scott said. "He showed up at your?... Derek's house?"
Stiles felt his face heat up at his unfortunate foot in mouth, slip of the tongue. Because no matter how much time Derek's cock spent in his ass it didn't magically award him the deed to the alpha's mansion. This was not his house. It was Derek's, dammit. The only we they possessed was during werewolf sex. And that was kind of sad.
"You know what I mean," he said recovering quickly. "But yeah, crazy geriatric dude felt the need to pop in for some tea and a creeping session."
"Oh," Scott said finally catching on to the psycho that was Allison's grandpa. "So um, what did Derek do?"
Stiles knew he was asking not only about Gerard but the werewolf heat and that was a little bit awkward to tell his best friend when he had not previously considered himself to be of the man sexing variety.
"Let's just say Derek is very thorough," he said unable to resist freaking Scott out.
"Dude! Don't speak of… you know ever again. I do not want to picture you two getting freaky…"
"Multiple, multiple times," Stiles continued ignoring Scott's sounds of protest. "In many different positions and man, he does this thing with his tongue…"
"I will hang up on you Stiles, I swear to God!" Scott shrieked and Stiles just knew he was attempting to hold the phone away from his ears and possibly fill them with acid to burn away what he'd just told him. He grinned evilly and was suddenly very sure that he would have a lot of fun with Scott come Monday.
"Okay, okay keep your werewolf panties on," he said.
Scott went quiet for a brief moment and Stiles closed his eyes when the sun seemed to appear meekly from behind the clouds now that talk of a particularly crazy degree of Argent had ceased. "Did you hear about that girl from our school…?"
"Yeah," he sighed blinking against the sunlight that was burning away his eyelids. "Do you know who it was?"
"It was a girl named Charlie Monterey. She was in the year below us, a freshmen."
Stiles swore. And then he really wished he'd called the hunters last night. He could have stopped the monster that did that only he'd let it escape because he'd been selfish and distracted by his emotionally fragile boyfriend. He'd thought he'd been so badass about the whole thing but all he'd done was extend its killing spree. He should have just let Derek kill it because there was no doubt in his mind that it was going to kill again. And again. And again.
"Listen Scott," he said interrupting his best friend's words, no doubt Allison related. "I gotta go. I'll see you at school tomorrow."
"Sure, buddy," Scott said but even he could hear the anxiety in Stiles voice. "Are you sure…?"
But he'd already hung up. He scrambled to his feet looking around and expecting Derek to be in his line of vision because this little game of alpha hide 'n' seek was getting old fast. He still hadn't seen him since the angry wall encounter last night although the mountain ash clearly meant the alpha couldn't go anywhere. He was trapped within Stiles little circle of doom. Cue villainous cackling.
"I would advise you to disrupt that barrier on Mr Hale's behalf," came a familiar voice beside him.
Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin because a few seconds before there had not been a butler standing right next to him and now there was and this was adding up to a bit too many haunting like appearances within several days. And this was so not The Shining, thank God. Considering their brief introduction- when Stiles had yelled at him in front of the entire town- he hadn't even seen the dude skulking around Derek's McMansion. In fact Stiles had been beginning to question if driver/butler dude actually existed.
"Oh my God! Jeeves!" he cried taking several steps away from him in case Jeeves/Henry wanted revenge for Stiles nearly scratching Derek's car when he'd almost run him over. "Warn a dude next time! You almost gave me an aneurism!"
"Apologies Mr Stilinski," Jeeves/ Henry said politely, clothes immaculately pressed and posture perfect. But if he was here then did that mean…
"Oh God have you been here this entire weekend?" Stiles demanded, pulling an agonised expression at the idea. Dear God, that would mean Jeeves had witnessed everything. And like everything, everything like werewolf sexy time, everything. Oh God.
"I arrived to continue my duties early this morning," he said and Stiles wanted to weep in sweet relief because he had just dodged the ultimate humiliation bullet. "But I would insist that you cease this barrier preventing Mr Hale from leaving. I am certain it is causing immense distress."
Stiles eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did Derek send you? Because he's too chicken shit to talk to me himself after last night?"
Jeeve's expression flickered briefly but he had some badass level of control over himself because his polite smile didn't waver and that was definitely not a guarantee for most people after talking to Stiles. He had to admit he was impressed that Jeeves didn't immediately sock him for insulting his master or whatever. It was clear that he would have made a tricky arch nemesis if the title hadn't already been given to Derek.
"Mr Hale made no such request. I merely wish to impart information…"
He trailed off in surprise when Stiles jumped onto the hood of his jeep and sat comfortably on his new perch, eyebrows raised in expectation because if butler man wanted to talk Stiles was willing to listen and he'd be damned if he didn't make himself comfortable first. "Continue," he offered in polite mockery of the butler's tone moving his hand in a noble manner as if he were bestowing a knighthood. Jeeves didn't even react and Stiles had to hand it to the dude, he knew how to take cheek from irritating teenagers.
"As you no doubt are well informed, Mr Hale lost almost all of his entire family to a house fire several years ago and despite not being present at the time, takes certain concern at being imprisoned in a similar fashion."
Stiles jaw dropped. "Imprisoned?"
Jesus, take a few steps back. The point had been to keep raging, psycho werewolf out not raging, sexy alpha werewolf in. That was Derek's problem? Holy hell that man needed psychiatric assistance. Jeeves nodded as if in acknowledgement of Stiles ridiculous- catching flies with widened mouth- expression despite the usual human instinct to run from it.
"Your actions appear to trigger intense emotional responses from Mr Hale…"
Stiles scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah I did notice that."
"And heat week tends to make Mr Hale more irrational so I would suggest permitting him some distance," he said seemingly satisfied that he'd added his two cents to the matter. "If you'll excuse me."
And then the dude bowed like this really was the monarchy in England and left Stiles to his evidently unhelpful devices. He thought about Jeeves words looking down at the faint trail of ash only metres away keeping Derek inside and he definitely didn't enjoy the idea of being the bastard that was forcing him to relive past horrors. Because he knew a thing or two about past horrors. And they were not fun.
Maybe feeling trapped was Derek's equivalent to his panic attacks. No wonder his eyes had looked so wild, so panicked. Stiles waited until Jeeves was well out of eyesight because technically he still remained in an understudy role of arch nemesis and therefore he couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd obeyed him. And besides he'd practically been about to do it anyway because there had not been any rogue sightings since last night and maybe the end of heat week meant an end to evil rapist werewolf. Until the next heat began.
Or maybe it just meant end to crazed, rapist werewolf. Heat or no heat wasn't going to stop it from attacking people, or women. He glanced around again just to make sure he wasn't being watched before he moved slowly towards the barrier. He crouched down and brushed away the ash with his hand disturbing the connection. He'd barely broken the barrier before he was being pushed face first into the dirt as something heavy pressed against his back for leverage. He choked on the sudden onslaught of an unwanted grass meal before he was able to pull himself back up again just in time to watch Derek's disappearing form as he raced into the woods like some kind of animal.
"Jesus," he gasped spitting out leftover grass. "You're welcome asshole!"
It was safe to assume Derek would not be replying any time soon. Or returning. And considering how eager he'd been to leave the barrier it was unlikely he'd be keen to return so they could talk. Or engage in werewolf sexy time. So Stiles brushed himself off and went to retrieve his keys from inside Derek's house because he could be spending his Sunday in much better company. He did not see any sign of Jeeves so clearly his demon jeep had some otherworldly competition and he didn't waste any time collecting his keys and getting the hell out of there before it really turned into The Shining.
Stiles knew that he was angry with Derek when he drove towards his dad's place and he wished he'd had another opportunity to punch him in the face or hit him with his lacrosse stick only this time he would not be going for a gentle love tap. Oh no. He had bigger werewolf destruction plans than that. He didn't really even know why he was angry. Derek just seemed to make everything difficult because he'd broken his emotion switch and now irrational feelings were leaking out of him and making him push Stiles' face into the dirt.
For the second time now. Stiles was starting to see a pattern here. And not only that. But whenever he'd start to think he could unravel Derek's cactus brain the stupid, unpredictable alpha pulled another stunt that had him re-evaluating everything. Derek was an enigma, wrapped in a wolf and covered in prickly spikes to ward off curious bystanders.
He was a goddamn tricky puzzle that was for sure. But Stiles was sure he was slowly starting to figure it out. Maybe that was what was freaking Derek out so much. But it kind of sucked in the sense that clearly they would not be getting freaky without some kind of heat to encourage them and the withdrawal from so much sex to literally a eunuch level of sex was sort of messing with his brain.
And little Stiles who had remained half hard all morning in anticipation of more heat sex- because apparently there were side effects from screwing someone's brains out so thoroughly- was still waiting for some serious Derek stimulation. Although going to visit his dad to prove he was still among the living and not werewolf chow was a good enough way to solve that problem.
His dad was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper and Stiles had to ignore the flood of sexual thoughts that followed looking at a kitchen table and recalling being screwed against one. Because those were definitely some very good sexy time memories.
"Hey Dad," he said as he walked in. "I survived heat week and all, where's my trophy? Or medal?"
He took a seat at the table as his dad pulled him into a one armed hug, rolling his eyes. "You could probably survive the apocalypse and you still wouldn't get a medal," he said. "Let me look at you, son."
He turned Stiles around and gave him an once over as if expecting a third arm to be sticking out of his neck or something but seeing as Stiles hadn't been swimming in vat of toxic waste it was unlikely. His father pulled a face but Stiles figured it was the- I'm looking at you and knowing you had really rough sex and I think that's too much information for me to handle- face so he didn't freak out too much.
"Where's Derek?" the used to be Sheriff asked making his way back to his newspaper and cup of coffee. Stiles made an irritated sound and drummed his fingers distractedly against the table.
"I don't know probably trying to kill the rogue," he guessed. "Or Grandpa Argent or some sort of furry animal. He took off running into the woods after I released him from house arrest."
His father raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know if I dare ask, but maybe you should tell me the whole story."
So Stiles did, only he left out the sex parts so the story was over relatively quickly, seeing as that had basically been the point of the entire week. His father just sipped his coffee thoughtfully and Stiles was tempted to drink some, regardless of the consequences.
"Not at chance," his father muttered wagging his fingers in a no way in hell gesture. Stiles rolled his eyes but he'd only broken two appliances and a bed under the influence of coffee so clearly it wasn't a totally dangerous substance. Sort of.
"But what do you think? I mean should I just organise my tombstone now or…?"
His father frowned. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," he said. "But I think what you have to understand here is that Derek's had a rough life, and he needs someone relatively normal to bring out the human part of him that's been buried for so long. Cut him some slack."
"I'm both offended and impressed," he admitted after a short pause. "Relatively normal?"
His father chuckled. "You're right I was aiming too high. How about we just stick with human?"
"Better," he admitted. "Have you had any luck with work?"
His father sighed draining his coffee and putting it into the sink. "None. But I'm not giving up on finding this rogue even with the Argents faring so badly."
"It hasn't gotten anyone since that girl from school right?" he asked hating the waver in his voice at the question. His father patted him consolingly on the shoulder.
"Another hunter this morning, but not before he wounded it, badly."
Stiles didn't know whether or not to feel satisfied or disturbed that this rogue could take down two hunters or that two seemed to be its limit before getting its ass kicked. "How badly?" he asked.
"Wolfsbane bullets, two rounds," he said. "It should be dead by tomorrow."
"Should be," he echoed leaving his seat and seizing his keys because he knew a lot could happen between 'should be' and 'it's dead'. "I'd better go."
"Derek?" his dad guessed and Stiles rolled his eyes because he was getting predictable or maybe his dad could just see his I'm going to go and deal with the bastard that started the feelings face.
"Always Derek," he admitted. "I should just shoot him myself."
"I'm sure you'd survive prison," his father teased but there was a look on his face as if he'd noticed something Stiles hadn't. He smiled pulling him into yet another hug. "Be safe, son."
Stiles didn't feel the need to prove just how unsafe the life of a werewolf's husband could be because his dad was already experiencing the joys of unemployment and he didn't want to add the inevitable death of his only child to the list.
"Yeah bye dad."
And then he left Casa de Stilinski with every intention of beginning his own personal Derek psychiatry session. Because enough was enough. Something had to be done. And even if it killed him he had to goddamn try. There was no stopping a Stilinski when it came to helping emotionally stunted werewolves come to grips with the feelings and such.
Cactus man was going down.
Only there was no cactus man when Stiles drove back to Derek's place. And there was no cactus man when he cooked dinner with lots of meat and left the front door open so the smells could waft outside and act as alpha werewolf bait. And there was no cactus man when he showered and then climbed into bed naked as if that could offer better enticement than the meat could. And there was no cactus man when he awoke the next morning after falling to sleep.
So he got dressed, made his own breakfast and then drove himself to school. And of course Jackson was already waiting for him. Shit.
"What no Camaro this time?" he called out from several parking spaces away, already moving towards Stiles to lay some serious sexual innuendos on him. Stiles wished he'd just run him down with his demon jeep instead even if he knew it wouldn't kill the douchebag. "Didn't the alpha make you his bitch during heat week?"
He locked his jeep as quickly as possible trying his best to appear as if he could walk normally but his idea of a fast pace wasn't fast enough, dammit. Jackson reached him within seconds and sniffed, smirking immediately because he could smell exactly what had taken place between himself and Derek. Dammit.
"Clearly he did," Jackson said eyes glinting with sick satisfaction. "And it looks like he wasn't gentle either."
Stiles tried not to react but his face was already heating up. "How's Danny, Jackson?" he asked. "How's he walking after heat week?"
Jackson's smirk widened. "He's not walking," he said. "Danny's not here today."
"What?" he demanded instantly spotting Scott and nearly running directly into his arms he was so goddamn thankful to see him. He sincerely wished he'd never even bothered to go to school today. It's not like cactus man would have noticed but his dad definitely would have and he did not want his dad getting out his shot gun these days unless it was for a very good reason.
"Danny can't get out of bed," Jackson continued looking mightily pleased with himself, the sick fucker. At least Derek hadn't reduced Stiles to a bed ridden screwed state, thank God.
"Maybe you should put him out of his misery then," Stiles snapped hurrying as quickly as he could towards Scott, his saviour and bestest friend in the whole wide world who would not let Jackson bother him with clichéd and albeit truthful sexual Derek jokes.
Jackson laughed. "Trust me Stilinski. Misery is the opposite of what he went through."
Stiles rolled his eyes, increasing his pace before, finally, thank fuck, he reached Scott. Only for Scott to turn bright red and step away from him like he'd been the one to be bitten by a werewolf and develop rabies or whatever.
"Oh my God Stiles you reek of sex," Scott whined. "And Derek."
And there went his chances of the rest of the day being reasonably okay. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Jackson burst out laughing. He wanted to punch him, and Jackson and maybe himself though clearly he only had two fists and he had to choose his swings wisely.
"What did you expect Scotty? For me to smell like Danny's Armani?"
Jackson stopped laughing immediately and growled out a warning, shoulders tensing and expression turning threatening. What the hell? Stiles turned to him, mouth open in indignation. "Are you freaking kidding? You were just making fun of me screwing Derek and Danny's not even at school today. It's kind of impossible for me to even attempt any kind of whirlwind romance. Jealous much?"
"Danny's mine," he growled out completely ignoring what he'd said. Stiles nearly face palmed.
"Oh my God, did you just miss the part where I reek of Derek and sex? Seriously Jackson?"
He growled again as if for good measure and then stormed off already whipping out his cell phone as if he was going to call Danny to ensure he wasn't cheating on him with the clearly irresistible Stiles Stilinski. He rolled his eyes at Jackson's departing back.
"Heat week makes us all a bit crazy," Scott added but from several metres away with a hand covering his nose. Stiles wanted to throw his hands up to the sky and scream out his irritation. He stepped towards his best friend determined to punish him for being such a spectacularly shitty friend after he had sacrificed much of his time to keep Scott getting laid by his lady love.
"It's not that bad," he insisted stubbornly as Scott continued to back away and that was the moment when Erica entered the school, already walking past, nose wrinkling at the smell.
"It's bad," she confirmed unhelpfully. "But still kinda hot."
And then she kept walking after that wonderful observation leaving Stiles to wonder what exactly she thought was hot about it when Scott clearly wanted to throw himself off a cliff. Must have been a girl werewolf thing. He said an unflattering comment about Scott's eyebrows and then abandoned him for homeroom because he was clearly leaking sex pheromones out of his skin and every single werewolf in the nearby vicinity would be able to smell it. And because Scott was such a shitty friend who would rather avoid than offer support this was going to be a very solo experience.
"You survived," Isaac noted when he took his seat and Stiles pulled a face at him in response. "I can't say I would have seen that coming."
Stiles drummed his fingers across the table in an aggravated beat. "Ye of little faith," he said. "Didn't anybody tell you I'm impossible to kill?"
Isaac actually snorted at that and Stiles took a moment to consider how offended he should be that a werewolf found his inner man pain amusing. The werewolf in question ran a hand distractedly through his curls as he pulled a face at the evident man sex smells floating off Stiles' skin and he stared him down shamelessly because everybody already knew what had happened and he may as well freaking own up to it.
Isaac frowned. "What happened to that Chaney guy you were saving yourself for?"
Oh Jesus. Stiles rolled his eyes in response because didn't the werewolf boy understand sarcasm when he'd heard it? "He died, like thirty nine years ago. Dear God, you werewolves need to keep up with the classics."
Isaac's eyebrows knitted together in misunderstanding but he shrugged as if classic werewolf movies were not currently on his to-do list and Stiles disdained for the deprived werewolves of America. But that didn't stop him thinking about the very lack of faith Isaac had had in his surviving heat week. Had everybody assumed he'd be dead come Monday? Jesus, it's not like he'd been a freaking delicate flower or anything which Derek had crushed in his big werewolf claws.
And then Boyd took the seat opposite him smirking in barely concealed amusement because it was apparently freaking hilarious that Stiles had had his cherry seriously popped by big shot, alpha, Derek Hale. Sons of bitches, the lot of them. Or maybe Boyd had just noticed that Derek had used Stiles body as like his own freaking werewolf sex canvas; covering every inch of him in his scent and other things so that there could be no misunderstanding who he'd gotten freaky with during heat week.
Not to mention all of the hickeys, bruises, stubble burn and other various lewd marks covering every visible area of his skin so that all of the humans could see as well. There was that. Derek was a very thorough dude. Unfortunately, for what remained of Stiles dignity, too thorough.
Conclusion: every single freaking person in the whole entire universe was now aware or about to become aware of the obvious fact that Stiles had been seriously laid by a smoking hot alpha.
"Jackson started a pool on how damaged you'd be today," Boyd offered out of nowhere.
"What?!" he yelled nearly jumping out of his seat. "Are you freaking kidding me?"
They both shrugged as if to say Really you didn't expect Jackson would bet on just how badly the alpha screwed you? He thought about it for a second.
"Who won?" he asked suddenly curious despite being scandalised and offended by this serious breach of his human rights and man pride and et cetera. He ignored the slight twinge of his ass as he shifted in his seat again reminding him exactly what he'd been doing all weekend and then his mind immediately went through the highlights reel, totally unpermitted. Shit.
He let his mind go blank because there was no way in hell he was getting a Derek boner in front of two werewolves with keen senses and the reserved knowledge that he'd already been screwed senseless by said alpha. Because he was not going to make this day any worse for himself.
"Lydia won," Boyd said. "She guessed you'd still be able to walk."
Stiles, for once, leant back in his seat reduced to speechlessness due to the shocking fact that so many people had taken such a sudden interest in his blossoming sex life. It was very disturbing. And after that it was certainly not one of his best academic days. He couldn't concentrate- as per usual- but this time it was because of the whispers and snickers and other underhanded sex comments he'd received from random strangers throughout the entire day. And sure, people liked to be noticed and all but he certainly would have preferred to remain invisible for the remainder of his miserable existence if it meant people would stop approaching him to discuss Derek's sexual prowess.
Because for one, what mental capacity would he have to be in to discuss that with some random stranger who he'd never spoken a word in his life to before? And secondly, why the hell couldn't they just ask the stinking alpha these questions? Oh that was right. The asshole was out prancing through the woods like a freaking teddy bear having a picnic and that left Stiles to deal with the influx of otherwise imposing and very personal questions.
And he didn't even bother to hope Derek had been demoted from person of interest in the hunt to catch the rogue. Or that people had realised he was just a seriously attractive alpha with little to no social skills, not a psychotic rapist werewolf. Even if he'd totally convinced most of the hunters.
Because the people of Beacon Hills were known for their trust issues.
He hadn't watched any television since crazy Grandpa Argent's interview but he figured they hadn't bothered to announce Derek was innocent anyway. Though he didn't doubt they'd be announcing he'd lost his v-card soon enough just to ensure the information was properly spread on a world wide scale. But that would have to wait because two particular ladies had been lying in wait all day to pounce on him for an in depth discussion on said sex life. And because he was not on his A-game he was completely unsuspecting when Lydia and Allison cornered him in the boy's locker room on his way to lacrosse practise.
This was also made easier by the fact that he'd been abandoned by all of his teammates made possible from one seriously terrifying look from Lydia Martin. Even Jackson had bailed at that look. Traitors.
"How much money did you win in the betting pool?" he asked her impressed that she'd beaten out all of the other teenage gamblers at Beacon Hills' high school.
"Three hundred and sixteen bucks," she said smugly and his mouth fell open.
"Three hundred…? Oh my God. Who even bets on stuff like that?" he demanded. "You know what, I deserve a cut of that. At least twenty per cent…"
"Yeah right," she scoffed. "Now start talking."
"Talking?" he asked eyes darting desperately around the room for a handy escape hatch. "That is like the opposite of what you should be asking me to do, I mean…"
Her hands came down on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and preventing him from jumping up and running away, yelling at the top of his lungs for his demon jeep to save him. She leant down close, using her gaze to jedi mind trick him into opening the vault of silence.
"Well?" Lydia demanded when he kept his mouth sewn shut in protest of the serious grilling he was about to receive. "How was it?"
Stiles managed a politely disinterested expression. "Whatever do you mean?" he inquired, totally poker faced because he would take every sordid detail of his and Derek's sexy time to his grave so help him God, amen.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Don't even try that shit, Jackson tells me you're covered in Derek's funky spunk and you're walking like you've had something of considerable size up your ass."
He flushed and Allison cleared her throat awkwardly. "Funky spunk?" he echoed nearly bursting out into awkward laughter because this was not a discussion he had expected would take place in the boy's locker room- or ever for that damn matter.
"Yes. Seminal fluid," she said and when he said nothing she continued with many more, terrifying examples. "You know, ejaculation, man milk, love juice, splooge, sex mustard, jizz, manjam, pearl necklaces, love butter, cock fizz, demon seed, man chowder, baby batter, cum."
Stiles choked on his own air and she sighed in frustration.
"Sperm, Stiles, God."
He spluttered for a few seconds as he attempted to get his breathing back to normal. Because this was not remotely decent conversation. And he was currently experiencing cardiac arrest. "Jesus," he gasped. "You can't say that kind of stuff in front of Allison, Scott will kill me!"
He paused. "Actually, can I write some of those down…?"
Allison's face turned flaming red and Lydia shook him as she let out an unsatisfied sound. "Focus, dammit. How was sexual intercourse with Derek?"
His mouth fell open and he glanced between them, totally panicked because their expressions were expectant and he figured he would not leave this room without being forced to divulge something. In the end it was Allison that convinced him.
"Oh c'mon Stiles," she said squeezing his arm gently. "You know you're dying to tell someone and Scott's not going to listen."
He rubbed his face but sighed, giving in because he was of the weak willed variety when it came to crossbow wielding girls. "Okay, okay but don't tell Scott that I spoke of such things in your presence. I don't want to die."
Allison nodded enthusiastically and gave him a smile where she was practically shooting rainbows out of her eyes and Lydia just looked hungry, scary hungry. He gulped. "It was… good," he admitted looking at Lydia's raised eyebrow because nothing more than raunchy and graphic detail would satisfy her. "Okay, okay really good like, my God, dude knows what he's doing. It's his goddamn fault that I now possess a predilection towards sex addiction."
Lydia rolled her eyes.
"But it didn't hurt?" Allison whispered. "When he um…"
Stiles shrugged not feeling as embarrassed as he would've guessed to be discussing being penetrated by a hot werewolf dude. "Not as much as I'd thought."
"Did he knot you?" Lydia demanded and Allison gasped slapping Lydia's arm as if to stop the words coming from her mouth. Stiles flushed and wanted to bury his head in a nearby locker to avoid her penetrating stare. Dear Lord, how did she know these things? Oh right, she'd dated Jackson. Did that mean he'd knotted her? Oh God why was the thought of a heterosexual union so disturbing?
"Lydia! You can't just ask him that!" Allison spluttered. "Th-that's private."
And if that wasn't an admission that she was well experienced in the art of werewolf sex and she and Scott had already done that together he didn't know what was. And that was so not what he wanted to think about his best friend. Ever. He jumped to his feet, eager to escape Lydia's twenty sex questions. She was worse than Jackson.
"Is that the bench calling my name? Can't keep her waiting you know how she pines for me," he said tripping over his own feet in his frenzied escape. "See you guys later."
And then he practically ran out of the locker room trying to keep his high pitched and unnatural screams internalised. But basically everything went downhill from there. He was stuck next to Greenberg on the bench which led to further uncomfortable questioning about the nature of his sex life with no method of escape except attempting to decapitate himself with his lacrosse stick. Only that would have taken too long and been too messy.
Plus Scott couldn't stop looking at him as if expecting Stiles to magically stop smelling like Derek sex and he had to resist the urge to beat him over the head as well. And Jackson's comments only continued to get worse. And more graphically disturbing. Extremely graphic, like explaining in detail exactly what Stiles smelt like in front of the rest of the team kind of graphic. And that was why Jackson was a werewolf douchebag.
So it was safe to say that when school finished he was super pissed and on a Stilinski warpath. Although it could have been worse. He could have spotted Gerard Argent and been further creeped on, so safe to say it could have been a psychotic disturbing level of badness. He got out reasonably unscathed. But when he arrived home there was no Derek werewolf husband to greet him and possibly continue to make him smell like awesome man sex. Because of course normal people disappeared into the woods to never emerge again, distant howling the only indication that they remained among the living. God. He even attempted to call the alpha on his cell phone.
Although he would have had no idea where a most likely fully transformed werewolf would hide a cell phone, so he wasn't completely surprised when there was no freaking answer. But that still didn't make it okay, dammit. So Stiles munched on some food from the cupboard for strength and purpose and whatnot and then got back into his jeep and drove off to Dr Deaton's clinic because he had a plan to get Derek out of the freaking woods already.
And of course when he arrived, Scott ran from the room as soon as he entered like the little bitch he was. And that did not remotely improve his mood. "Oh my God Scott I had sex with Derek, freaking get over it!" he yelled after his quickly disappearing best friend.
Dr Deaton stood by the counter with a completely bemused expression on his face and Stiles walked over to him, shamelessly ignoring the fact that he was only serving to broadcast his sex life to a further extent of his own volition. And that seemed a little counterproductive.
"Hello again Mr Stilinski," Deaton said politely, noticing the obvious Derek sex marks all over him and choosing not to comment on them. Thank you, Jesus. Stiles wanted to hug him for the evident tact he possessed and which Scott was seriously lacking. The jackass.
"Hey, so uh you've helped me out with my little furry wolf problem before and I was wondering if you could lend me something."
And then he explained what that something was ignoring Deaton's raised eyebrows and Scott sticking his head out from around the doorway every few seconds. He tried not to seize the nearest weapon- which happened to be Deaton's bell announcing customers- and lob it at Scott's head. The shaman/ veterinarian readily agreed to help Stiles and went into the back room to retrieve what he'd requested so he waited there impatiently, glancing at Scott every so often and rolling his eyes.
"You know you're going to have to deal with it sooner or later," he said. "We're practically married these days anyway."
Scott huffed out a sigh. "I know you're mated, dude I just wasn't expecting it to be so…"
"Pungent smelling?" he guessed figuring that was probably the reason why Scott was suddenly treating him like he had leprosy.
Scott rolled his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I was going to say awkward but that too."
Stiles resisted the urge to punch himself in the face but Scott was going to have to deal with Stiles smelling like serious man sex because he had no intention of going cold turkey anytime soon. That is, if Derek would stop playing so hard to entice from the woods and they could get back to some serious sexy time already. "Well I'm sorry ol' buddy ol' pal but I got bigger wolves to fry right now."
"Derek?" Scott guessed.
Stiles nodded throwing out an overdramatic sigh. "He's cheating on me with Beacon Hills Reserve," he cried out flailing his arms to get the point across, the point being he'd lost his werewolf boyfriend. "And now my only choice is to have his body hacked into thousands of tiny pieces and scattered in the wind."
Scott's perplexed expression was enough to entertain him for several decades. "Have you always had a tendency towards murder?"
Stiles wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. "Dude we went into the woods at night once to look for a body, pretty sure that was a dead giveaway."
Scott smiled as Deaton returned handing him a paper bag and Stiles smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks doc, I owe you man," he said.
"No problem Mr Stilinski, I hope it helps with your ah- furry problem."
Stiles grinned and tipped an invisible hat as a way of thank you before he left the clinic feeling satisfied that phase one of -lure wilderness inclined werewolf, cactus man out of the woods so that said wolf man could continue dousing Stiles in his funky spunk- was a go.
It took less than fifteen minutes to return to Derek's den of dastardly deeds and by then phase one was in full swing. He'd barely pulled into the driveway before he was withdrawing said item out of the bag, slamming the door of his jeep closed as he jumped out. He stood there for a few minutes seriously contemplating the level of insanity that Derek withdrawal had plunged him into and just how much further he'd be willing to descend into the bowels of mental hell before the alpha decided to accept the feelings and such before he put the item to his lips.
And then he blew.
A high pitched trilling sound that barely reached Stiles ears rippled through the woods and he was pleased at the responding howls and the very dramatic emergence of a flock of birds from the tree tops, scattering away from the sound as if in disgust. He kept an eye on those guys in case they felt the need to swoop by and drop some wonderful gifts of bird excrement on his head in retaliation.
And because he was determined to infuriate the alpha to murdering level of crazy he removed the dog whistle from his lips and called, "Derek! Here boy!"
Sure it was a dumb idea but he was angry and frustrated and possibly missing Derek's ability to screw him senseless so he wasn't feeling very concerned about the level of irritation the sound would cause an alpha. Or any other animal of the werewolf variety. He didn't have to wait long. Derek barrelled out of the woods as if Stiles had called him, which he had so the plan was working perfectly.
Until the alpha growled out an angry warning before tackling Stiles to the ground. He swore and squirmed to escape but Derek had already gotten a steel grip on him and clearly all was lost.
"Jesus," he snapped. "What is it with you and throwing me around like a sack of potatoes?"
Derek scowled at him. "What is it with you treating me like a dog?" he barked expression livid and his fingers pressed deeply into Stiles biceps while his thighs pinned him down. And seeing as that was as much action he'd gotten since Saturday night it was hardly surprising that he reacted to the touch, to the press of Derek's body against him. The withdrawal had been too much for his libido and he was hard as a rock within seconds. And that only served to make Derek angrier.
"Stop that," the alpha snapped and Stiles continued to struggle, huffing out an angry breath when Derek was as immovable as stone.
"No," he replied stubbornly refusing to stop whatever the hell Derek was talking about. And that did not seem to please the alpha one bit because he leaned forward, teeth clamping down on Stiles neck harder than ever before making him cry out in pain. Because ow, what the flying fuck? Did he look like a chew toy? He thrashed against the alpha twisting to escape, arousal easily forgotten in the light of evident neck mauling.
"What the fuck?" he cried out, swearing when Derek kept his teeth sealed over his neck as if his jaw had been clamped shut and then super glued. Was he trying to turn him into a freaking werewolf? Sweet baby Jesus, he was wasn't he?
He managed to free his knee and didn't hesitate to jerk it upwards into the general vicinity of Derek's balls. The alpha howled upon knee to family jewels contact, releasing his very human teeth from Stiles neck as he moved to roll away pulling Stiles with him. They rolled across the grass, swearing, grunting and growling. In the struggle Stiles ended up on top of the alpha, hands pressed against his chest and legs tangled together in a way that made little Stiles interest perk up again only Derek was groaning in pain so he was clearly the only one aroused here. Oops.
He slid his hands up Derek's neck until he was cupping his jaw, forcing the alpha to look at him not bothering to be gentle about it because Derek had just attempted to bite his neck off. "What the hell was that?" he yelled. "Were you trying to turn me? I don't want the freaking bite!"
Derek scoffed seizing control of himself and pushing at Stiles so that they were rolling in the grass again and he ended up beneath the alpha. He hovered over Stiles face, expression tight but not as angry as before so maybe he'd nearly broken Stiles neck for a reason. It better be a freaking good one.
"I wasn't," he snapped. "I was trying to show you I'm not your goddamn pet to play with whenever you feel like it!"
Werewolf cactus man says what now?
Stiles gaped at him. "I don't…"
"A dog whistle?" he growled. "Are you fucking kidding me? And you think just because you've got mountain ash you can lock me away like an animal?"
Jesus is that what Derek had thought he was doing? Fuck.
"I was trying to protect you!" Stiles shouted pushing at his chest, furious that Derek still didn't seem to trust him. The alpha barely seemed to notice the action. "I can't watch anybody else die! I can't!"
And it was the sound of his voice breaking on his last word that had Derek's attention. The alpha's eyes widened as Stiles turned his head away, face burning and chest heaving. He could feel the tightness behind his eyes threatening emotionally teary scarring but he breathed deeply, forcing the feelings away and telling himself to grow a fucking pair. Because this was not about loss, or death or grief that always burned within his chest, tightening around his heart in moments of solitude and bringing on another panic attack.
This was about Derek. And how since being with him, that tightening, that feeling that he couldn't breathe for fear of being constricted was starting to loosen.
And he couldn't deal.
Derek's fingers slid across his cheek, gently turning his jaw as he leant down to kiss him. Stiles let out a strangled, needy sound twisting his fingers into Derek's hair and tugging, pulling him closer because he wanted more. And suddenly they were tearing at each other like nobody's business. He clutched at Derek like he was his lifeline and the feelings swarmed within him bringing those three little words to the surface again. He smothered them with Derek's mouth, before it undid them both.
And then he kissed the alpha like the world was ending because it was. At least this world he thought he knew, where Lydia Martin was his one true love, and Scott was whipped beyond measure and his dad was a badass Sheriff and Jackson was a douchebag.
Because that didn't exist anymore. Sure, Lydia was still terrifyingly beautiful, and Scott would never cease to be whipped to an inch of his life by Allison and his dad would always be a badass no matter what he did and let's face it Jackson would forever be a freaking douchebag. But that wasn't what had changed.
The feelings had taken him prisoner in some very serious tactical, emotional warfare manoeuvre and he was suddenly seeing everything with new eyes.
Because he was mated to a man of few words, a cactus level of emotional availability, an android styled, werewolf sex God, Derek Hale.
And Stiles Stilinski was in freaking love with him.
Fuck.